Always Here
by Flammablepie
Summary: The five times (among many) in Sherlock's life where Mycroft was there for him. Warning for Sherlock and his cocaine.
1. Storm

Hello guys! :D This is my first fanfiction, so please be gentle. Criticism is welcome! I apologize for any out of character-ness, I tried my best.

Little Sherlock is five in this one and Mycroft is twelve (Mycroft is seven years older than Sherlock in the original stories)

Regarding Mycroft's and Sherlock's nicknames, I assume Sherlock would call him 'My', I got 'Mykee' and 'Sherly' from the Guy Ritchie films

* * *

Lighting lit the sky up and thunder clapped. The wind was howling and every tree on the Holmes' manor was swaying dangerously. There was another flash of light followed by a loud boom. Little Sherlock shivered in the dark under his covers. Storms have always scared him and tonight it was particularly bad—even his nightlight offered no comfort. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He flicked on his bedside table lamp and slipped into his dressing gown. Sherlock reached for his wooden pirate sword on the floor and crept out of his room.

The house was cold and silent. Mummy and daddy were away in London for the weekend doing business. The floor creaked under Sherlock as he padded down the empty corridor.

'Why is Mycroft's room so far from mine?' He groaned silently.

Clutching his sword, He pushed open Mycroft's door.  
"My?" He whispered, fingers still holding on to the knob.  
"Mykee?" Sherlock tried again, his voice shaky.

A soft groan came from under the covers. Lighting stuck followed by thunder and Sherlock yelped. He quickly shut Mycroft's door and scampered over to Mycroft. He pulled at his brother's covers and Mycroft cracked an eye open to see a teary eyed Sherlock.

"Mmmmm…? Sherly? What's wrong?"  
"Mykee, I'm scared. Please, My, can I sleep here tonight?" Sherlock pleaded between his quiet sobs.

Mycroft shifted over and Sherlock placed his sword on the ground. He wouldn't need it anymore since Mycroft was with him. He crawled into bed and snuggled into the covers— it was warm. His breathing slowed down and he was calm again.

"Thanks for protecting me, My" he mumbled.  
"I'll always protect you" Mycroft whispered as he drifted back to sleep.


	2. Freak

I don't know about other school systems, but Year 3 is when you're about 7-8 (in the British school system), making Mycroft about 14-15.

I had to throw in the cake for Mycroft :D

* * *

A week after starting Year 3, Mycroft came to pick Sherlock up after school. Sherlock was sitting by the school gates, looking a bit upset. The moment he spotted Mycroft walking down the street to him, he put on a neutral face.

"Hello Mycroft," he greeted  
"Yes, hello Sherlock. Mummy's going to be a bit late today"

Sherlock's face dropped a bit.

"She says we can get ice cream, if you want"  
"No thanks, Mycroft" he mumbled.

Mycroft took a seat next to his brother who looked deep in thought. He rifled through his bag and took out his Biology text book and started studying.

Sherlock broke the silence.

"My?" He started, sounding a bit vulnerable.  
"Mmmmm?" Mycroft replied not looking up.

Silence.

"Am I really a freak?"

Mycroft looked up at his brother, who was currently staring at his feet. Mycroft could tell Sherlock was trying is best to put on a brave face.

"Who called you that, Sherly?"  
"Some boys in the year," he mumbled.

Mycroft could feel the anger welling up in him. He sighed. People just didn't understand Sherlock. They couldn't see or appreciate his intelligence. They'd rather label him something than actually get to know him—it was easier that way.

"No you're not," Mycroft reassured him. "They just don't get you, Sherlock. They're all too stupid. You're much more intelligent than them"

Sherlock still looked unconvinced.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. One day. One day you'll understand,"  
"Understand what, Mykee?"

He chuckled, "Just how unique and important you are"

That seemed to have done the trick because Sherlock brightened up. A black car pulled up and they got in. Mummy greeted and smiled at them.

"How was your day?" She asked both of them.  
"I found a new type of plant in the school yard!" Sherlock piped up, excited.  
Mummy smiled and congratulated him.

"And you, Mykee?"  
"Just fine," he smiled "I've got a lot of work though"  
"Well, I've baked a cake. Maybe that could cheer you up"

Mycroft grinned. He would have to tell Mummy soon, but that could wait.


	3. Broken

If you're wondering why Sherlock refused to go home (I'm assuming that he walks back when his parents are not in), it's because he's afraid he'll get attacked again.  
I doubt any principal would let the issue slip since he broke his arm, but I suppose Sherlock was so stubborn that she gave up and decided to ask again later.

Mycroft is 18 here (first year Uni, I imagine) making Sherlock 11 and probably in Year 7.

* * *

Mycroft's phone went off and everyone in the lecture hall glared at him. He quickly excused himself and went out into the hall to take the call.

"Hello?"  
"Hello, this is Sherlock's school, you're Mycroft Holmes, yes?"  
"Yes I am. Is anything the matter?"  
"Sherlock has gotten into a little accident. We couldn't contact either of your parents and since you're eighteen, you're his next guardian"

Mycroft panicked a bit.

"What's happened? Is he hurt?"  
"He's broken an arm I'm afraid. He refused to tell us what had occurred all we know is that it happened sometime after school. He just showed up at the nurses office demanding he get his arm in a cast. We've gotten it looked at but could you please come to pick him up? He's refusing to move"  
"Yes, I'll be right over"

Mycroft got into his car and sped off for Sherlock's school.

'So much for that interesting lecture' he thought.

When he arrived at school, he found the dark haired boy sitting in the nurse's office with is arm in a cast. He had a few bruises here and there.

"Sherlock?" He called.  
"Oh hello Mycroft. What are you doing here?" He spat.

Mycroft sighed. Ever since going off to University, Sherlock has been acting more and more distant. This has been constantly worrying Mycroft.

"I'm here to take you home. You're principal called,"  
"I told her not to," Sherlock said annoyed.  
"Sherlock what happened?"

Silence. Sherlock just glared at Mycroft.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft warned.

He continued to ignore his brother.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock flinched. He hadn't heard his brother raise his voice in awhile. He just stared at his brother. Mycroft's gaze softened and pulled his brother along.

"Come, let's go home,"

They got into Mycroft's car and went home. On the way back, Sherlock spoke up.

"It was the seniors, three of the eight graders. I caught them cheating in a test," Sherlock began, "I told them I knew and that I was going to tell someone. And… They came after me…"  
He trailed off.

Mycroft felt a pang of guilt. When he was still in school, the bullies wouldn't dare lay a finger on him. But now that Mycroft was gone, Sherlock got bullied frequently. Mycroft was only back during the weekends, sometimes only once a fortnight, he didn't realised what had been happening until now.

"I'm sorry," Mycroft muttered and Sherlock looked up at him in shock. It was a long time since he heard Mycroft apologize, to anyone.

Mycroft didn't need to explain why he was saying sorry. Sherlock knew it wasn't because he felt bad that Sherlock had broken his arm. It was because Mycroft wasn't there for him. He had always thought Mycroft would always be by his side, but he learnt the hard way that that was not true. That his big brother will not be there for him all the time.


	4. High

I have heard that the withdrawal symptoms are quite horrible.

* * *

Mycroft's stared at the stack of paperwork on this desk. Sure, working for the government at his position meant a good pay, but it came with lots of paperwork. His phone rang.

"Hello?" He answered, annoyed that someone was interrupting his work.  
"Mycroft?" He heard Sherlock's voice. It was shaky, vulnerable and scared.  
"Sherlock? What is it?" He asked, slightly worried.  
"Mycroft… Mycroft… I- I need… I need h-help" he stuttered.

Mycroft was very concerned now. After Sherlock dropped out of Uni in the second year, he completely lost track of him. Sherlock had gone off to somewhere in London, claiming he was looking for some work there. Mummy was worried, but she let Sherlock go with a sum of money.

"Sherlock, what's happened? Where are you?"  
"I-Im in Vauxhall Arches. I did something wrong, Mycroft. I c-can't stop. H-help, please"  
"I'll send someone to pick you up and bring you to my apartment"

Sherlock made a mumble of agreement and hung up. He curled up on the floor and waited for the arrival of one of Mycroft's agents in a black car. Back at the office, Mycroft pinched his nose bridge and massaged his temples. What on earth could Sherlock have done now? He clocked out of work early and left his remaining work for Anthea to sort out.

Mycroft had eagerly awaited Sherlock's arrival back at his apartment, but he wasn't expecting this.

Sherlock was skinny and emaciated. His skin was pale and his eyes looked vacant. He could barely stand up by himself and was being supported by one of Mycroft's agents. He instructed his agent to leave Sherlock on the bed in the guestroom while Mycroft himself, made a pot of tea.

Sherlock was sprawled out the bed and was muttering some incoherent things. Mycroft dismissed the agent and sat in an armchair next to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what did you get yourself into this time?" He asked, his voice laced with worry.  
"I-I didn't mean to. I was c-curious, but I couldn't stop"  
"Stop what…?"

Then it dawned on him. His mind was so clouded by the fact that Sherlock was hurt that he couldn't reason as quickly.

He was on drugs. Cocaine, Mycroft deduced. Of course. Sherlock was so stubborn. He probably thought he could control his addiction and only came to Mycroft as a last resort.

"I-I'm sorry, Mycroft," Sherlock managed to mumble before drifting off to sleep.

Mycroft settled himself into his armchair— this was going to be a long night.


	5. Fall

Last chapter! Sorry they're all kind of short. In the original stories, Sherlock confides in Mycroft after he fakes his death and Mycroft arranges for the Baker Street rooms to be kept as they were until his brother returned.

* * *

A few hours after Sherlock had swan dived off the roof of St. Bart's, he had showed up at Mycroft's doorstep. He looked tired and worn and to some extent, annoyed.

"Sherlock Holmes," Mycroft greeted, "I thought you were dead"  
"Shut up, Mycroft," he spat.

Mycroft knew that Sherlock had faked his death, he, in fact helped orchestrate it. He showed him in and followed Sherlock into the guest room. Sherlock carelessly discarded his expensive coat on the floor, kicked off his shoes and promptly collapsed (face first) on the bed.

"Mycroft, how are the funeral arrangements going?" Sherlock asked, his voice muffled by the pillows  
"Good I imagine," he said as he sat in the all too familiar arm chair.  
"And Moriarty's men?"  
"We're dealing with that now. Tracking down a 'Sebastian Moran' as we speak,"  
"Baker Street?"  
"We'll keep it in good condition for you"  
"And John?" Sherlock's voice cracked a bit.  
"We're keeping a watchful eye on him"

Silence.

Sherlock shifted into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes.

"Thank you, My," he said as he strayed into sleep.

Mycroft looked at his brother, how long has it been since Sherlock called him that? He gave a small chuckle.

"Always a pleasure, Sherly"


End file.
